God Save the King
by whirlyite
Summary: Just a little something inspired by old newsreels on YouTube.  Please tell me what you think!
1. Chapter 1

**GOD SAVE THE KING**

**Chapter 1 - 15 February 1952, 0930 hrs**

The dull thud of a loud explosion roiled through the frigid air and echoed across the sky. It was immediately followed by the hollow-sounding gong of Big Ben marking the half hour. Five year old Robbie jumped in surprise as he sat astride his father's shoulders, so as better to see the pageant soon to be parading past. He reached down and tilted his father's face up to his.

"Da I'm scared!"

"Nothin' to be scared of son. That's just the guns soundin'."

"Why da?"

"They sound the guns once for each year of the King's life. They'll be firin' 56 times before it's all said and done."

Robbie released his grip and fidgeted mightily, trying to get a better look at all the activity swirling about them. He didn't see the expression of aching sadness that briefly passed over his father's face. _Me own da would've been 56 this year._ Thankfully, his gloomy thoughts were soon distracted by a small hand beating excitedly against the side of his head.

"Look da! Look! So many horsies! What's that?"

"That there's the Life Guards Robbie," patiently replied his father, Peter Newkirk, formerly on the King's service in the RAF during the late war. He stood one deep from the curb in the midst of one of the largest crowds ever seen in London, resplendent in his Warrant Officer's dress uniform. Just prior to his release from Stalag 13, he had been quite surprised to find that he had received field promotion in recognition of his services.

The weather was typical for February; gray, cold and misty. It struck the appropriate chord of sorrow for the entire nation. The mournful dirges of the bands could be heard approaching in the distance as the long, grand cortege began to wend its way through London from Westminster Hall, on its way to Paddington Station.

Peter lightly swatted his son on the leg to get his attention. "Pull yer coat tight round ya and button it up, boy. I don't need to be bringing ya back 'ome to yer mum with a cold. She'll 'ave me 'ead on a platter!"

Robbie did as he was told and chattered incessantly all the while, ending with "Da why didn't mum come with us?"

"I told you son. She's stayin' 'ome with your new baby brother, remember? He's a little too young to be out in this weather. I 'ad the devil's own time convincin' 'er to let you come with me as it was!" _Cor, she barely let me come! She worries too much. Good job she doesn't know what we were up to during the war._ He tightened his own thick wool muffler about his neck and then tugged on his son's foot. "'ey, I want you to remember to tell young Andrew all about this day when 'e's older, do ya 'ear me?"

Robbie nodded, a serious expression on his chubby face. "Yes da."

Peter looked round. "Wonder where yer Aunt Mavis is? She's gonna be missin' the cortege!"

"I see her da!" Robbie began waving furiously. "Auntie Mave! Here we are!"

Mavis pushed through the crowd, arriving breathlessly at Peter's side. He turned to her, clearly frustrated. "Blimey Mave! Thought you'd be 'ere earlier! You almost missed everythin'!"

"Belt up brother! Lost track o'time visitin' with Jo and yer new little one I did. What a lil' darlin'!"

Peter grinned back at Mavis. "Yer right about that Mave. Just like this 'un up on me shoulders, eh?" He tossed his head towards his squirming first born.

"Oh yes indeed. 'ow is my Robbie boy doin'?" She reached up to gently pinch Robbie's cheek. He giggled and waved at her. She laughed softly and nudged Peter's arm. "Fatherhood's becomin' to ya Peter. I never woulda thought it."

Peter's eyes turned serious, "Me neither Mave. Me neither." He had seriously thought about making a career out of the military but had been forced to leave the RAF with an honorable discharge due to poor health. He had come down with a severe bout of pneumonia right before Stalag 13 was liberated. Truth be told, he nearly died. He still wasn't sure how he managed to survive. Surely Wilson's tireless ministrations, LeBeau's hot, nourishing broth, Baker's endless communications with London and the Underground, Carter's anxious care and the grace of God all had a hand in it, though not necessarily in that order. Colonel Hogan had called in all his favors to have him priority evacuated back to England. After two months in hospital he finally recovered enough to be released, but his lungs were never the same. He was discharged and declared 30% disabled as a result of overseas service. The only real plus to the entire ordeal was Josephine, the pretty young nurse he had met, courted and married. She was the light of his life and the doting mother of his two fine lads.

Compared to his own father, Peter had gotten a late start on parenthood. Here he was, nearly 37 years old, with a newborn and a five year old. He was approaching 30 when the war ended, 31 when he married Jo, and 32 when Robbie was born. He distinctly remembered bursting into uncontrolled, joyous tears when he held Robbie for the first time. Come to think of it, he'd done the exact same thing with Andrew not two months earlier. He shook his head at the wonder of it all.

"Penny for yer thoughts Peter." Mavis had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"I was jus' thinkin' 'ow lucky I am Mave. 'ow lucky I was to survive the war, to make some fine mates durin' me time in camp, to be able to come back 'ome, to find a wonderful lass like Jo and to have two fine sons. 'ow lucky I am to 'ave a second chance." He spoke softly, as if talking to himself. He looked over and grinned at her. "Oh yeah, also to 'ave a sister who loves me, eh?"

Mavis smiled and gazed fondly at her brother. He was quite a different man for the better since the war ended. She often wondered what had happened to transform the angry, reckless, disrespectful lad who had constantly tempted fate and flouted the law into the stable, mature, serious family man who now stood beside her. She leaned over to kiss him gently on the cheek. "Yer a good man brother. A good man."

Robbie interrupted, "Da! Look!"

The steadily increasing volume of the dirges heralded the approach of the funeral procession. Peter leaned in towards Mavis. "Mave, would you be a love and take Robbie please?" He spoke softly up to his son, "Robbie, daddy needs to 'and you over to yer Auntie okay?"

"Okay da."

Peter shrugged Robbie off his shoulders and Mavis took him in her arms, holding him high enough so he could still see. Peter put his uniform in order, straightened his hat and came to full attention. As the gun carriage bearing the King's body passed within sight, he snapped to in a perfect salute and held it. _This is for you, Your 'ighness, for your service and sacrifice. This is for all the lads who didn't come back. And this is for you, da. I'm proud of ya, wherever ya are._ Sudden moisture in his eyes blurred his vision. Peter had long ago made his peace in his heart with his father. He remembered it like it was yesterday.


	2. Chapter 2

**GOD SAVE THE KING**

**Chapter 2 - Stalag 13, November 1944**

He stared in shock at the letter he held in his trembling hands. He couldn't believe the words Mavis had written. He simply couldn't believe it. _I always 'ad 'im pegged as a coward, but this…?_ He didn't understand why this news had such an effect on him. He thought he was beyond feelings of any kind when it came to his father. Why was he shaking with emotion? Why were his eyes filling with tears?

"_Peter, Da's went and hung himself. I know you and he hated each other. Even though he was a drunkard and a right old pissant, he was still our father. I came home from work today and found him hanging in the bedroom doorway. I reckon I don't have to tell you what a sight he was. The bobbies came round and asked me some questions before they took him away."_

He looked down, embarrassed by his distress, hoping that none of his mates took notice. Thankfully they all seemed to be happily engrossed in their letters from home. He stuffed the letter into his jacket and took the opportunity to quietly slip out the barracks door. He didn't care that it was dangerously cold outside; the winter was shaping up to be one of the worst on record. He kept his eyes on the ground as he walked and startled himself silly when he unexpectedly bumped into Schultz' huge bulk.

"Newkirk? Was machst du draußen Englander? All prisoners are restricted to barracks!" The burly German guard took his arm to guide him back to the hut.

He lashed out blindly in anger. "Sod off Schultzie! Leave me be!" He shrugged off Schultz' hand and stalked across the compound.

"Nein! Komm zurück! Das ist ein Befehl! Newkirk! Halt or I will shoot!" He braced himself and raised his rifle.

The Englishman turned round and laughed scornfully. "Go ahead! I dare ya! I wish ya would! Be doin' me a favor!"

"What is wrong with you Englander? If you do not come back to the barracks right now, it will mean the cooler for you!" Schultz was genuinely puzzled by the Corporal's behavior.

"I don't give a flying.." He turned away to leave as he spoke but wasn't able to finish the insult as Schultz moved quickly to cuff him hard across the back of his head, knocking him down to his knees.

He looked up, shocked. "Blimey Schultzie! You've never 'it me before! Why won't ya just leave me be?"

Schultz shook his head. "I am sorry Newkirk, I had to get your attention. Do you want to freeze to death?"

His emotions got the better of him again. He looked down and muttered, "I really don't care."

"Come Newkirk. Cooler for you." Schultz grabbed him by the collar and dragged him to his feet.

"Schultz! What's going on here?" Colonel Hogan called out as he strode up to the two men.

"Newkirk is going to the cooler, Colonel. He disobeyed my orders."

"C'mon Schultz, cut him some slack, okay?" He pulled the guard aside, "We think he got some bad news from home."

Schultz looked over at the Englander. "Ist das so Newkirk?" He got a glare and sullen silence in answer.

Hogan stepped back and put a reassuring hand on Schultz' shoulder. "I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it."

Newkirk jumped up and yelled, "Yes I did. I don't friggin' care if I go to the cooler. I want to!" He deliberately stomped down hard on Schultz' instep. The German guard yelped in pain and cuffed him on the head again.

"Verdammt! Was ist mit diesem verrückten Engländer falsch? Come Newkirk, to the cooler with you!"

Hogan gaped at Newkirk as Schultz dragged him away. He shouted after them, "Newkirk, what in the hell is _wrong_ with you?"

The Englishman didn't answer as he allowed himself to be carted away to the cooler. Hogan shook his head and sprinted back to the barracks. _I'm going to get to the bottom of this!_

Newkirk trudged after Schultz with his hands jammed in his pockets and his head hung low. The German guard had released his grip on his collar and was chiding him like a parent. "I don't understand you Englander. Why do you want to go to the cooler in this weather?"

"I 'ave me reasons Schultzie. Just leave me be." He raised a tear stained face to the guard. "Please?"

Schultz stared at him, then unlocked the gate and ushered him into the building. He locked him in the first cell and shook his finger at him through the bars. "I will be back in ein moment. Calm yourself down boy."

Newkirk huddled on the bench, wishing he had had the foresight to bring his heavy coat. _That's what 'appens when ya just go off 'alf cocked!_ He sighed and wiped his eyes, resigning himself to a cold, sleepless, miserable night. He heard noise outside his cell as Schultz approached.

"Leave me be Schultzie! What part of leave me alone don't ya understand?"

Schultz unlocked the door to the cell. "Nein Englander! I am now officially off duty. What I do when I am off duty is my own business, ja?" He bustled into the cell laden with blankets, a pillow, a large paper bag and a steaming mug.

Newkirk didn't reply or even look at him. He drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them as he stared blankly at the floor.

"What are you doing on that hard bench? Come Newkirk!" Schultz lowered himself onto the beat up cot and patted the limited space beside him, inviting the Englishman to sit. "Now Englander! That is an order!"

Newkirk rolled his eyes and obeyed. He plopped down on the cot next to the guard. "Ya 'appy now Schultz?"

"Ja I am." Schultz handed the mug to him. "Here, drink!"

"Schultzie…" he sighed.

"I said drink!" Newkirk tentatively sipped from the mug to find some kind of sweetened hot milk. He had to admit it really helped take the edge off the cold. He continued slowly sipping the warm liquid as Schultz draped blankets around his shoulders and over his legs.

"Lean back against the wall Newkirk." The Englander looked at him in exasperation and Schultz raised his eyebrows, gesturing with his head. "Newkirk…" he growled. The Englander did as he was told, to find a pillow placed behind his head, between it and the wall.

Newkirk sighed heavily. "Schultzie, I'm…I'm sorry I trod on your foot. I don't know…what got into me."

"And I am sorry for cuffing you on the head."

Newkirk rubbed his neck and smiled ruefully, "Certainly got me attention Schultz."

"You _did_ have bad news from home, ja Newkirk?"

"Ja, sehr schlechte Nachrichten." He handed the now empty mug back. "Danke."

Schultz didn't bat an eyelash at the Englander's lapse into fluent German. He had decided a long time ago that to 'know nothing' was the best policy when dealing with these wily young men.

Newkirk switched back to English. "Me father's dead. 'ung himself 'e did."

Schultz replied with genuine sympathy, "Ohh Newkirk, I am very sorry." He put a supportive hand on his shoulder.

The Englander swiped at his eyes. "Don't be. I'm not. He 'ated me. Beat me ev'ry chance 'e got. Kicked me outta the 'ouse after me mum died. I wasn't but 15 years old then. Anyway I shoulda known 'e'd take the coward's way out. 'e always was a coward."

"Newkirk why do you talk of your Vater in such a way?" Schultz was shocked to hear the deep bitterness and anger in the Corporal's voice. "How do you know he always was a coward?"

"What kinda man beats a 10 year old boy until he bleeds? Tell me that Schultz. A grown man attackin' a child is a coward in my book."

Schultz shook his head and sighed to himself. He never knew the Englander had such a horrible life growing up. No wonder he acted the way he did.

"I do not know why your Vater did that to you Newkirk. I do know that you did not deserve it."

Newkirk snorted in derision. "Oh? I musta done somethin' to bring 'im down on me! I been tryin' to figure it out all me life!"

"Nein. There is no excuse for beating a child."

"I just wanted 'im to…to…" Newkirk shook his head as if his thoughts confused him. "Bloody 'ell, never mind what I wanted. Good riddance to bad rubbish I say."

Schultz found himself at a loss for words and decided to divert the conversation in another direction. "I was going to my quarters to have lunch when I found you in the yard. I brought it with me. Here." He rustled about in the paper bag and pulled out a thick ham sandwich. He held it in front of Newkirk. The Englander stared at it, eyes wide. His stomach betrayed him by growling in anticipation, as he hadn't eaten since breakfast.

Newkirk looked at Schultz. "Are ya sure Schultzie? I don't wanta take yer food from ya!"

Schultz chuckled. "Newkirk, you know me. This is just the appetizer ja? Go on, eat!" He thrust the sandwich into the Englander's hands and watched approvingly as the young man began to hungrily devour it. "Slow down! Do not choke yourself!"

Newkirk swallowed a mouthful and sent a small smile Schultz' way. "Thanks Schultzie. This really hits the spot!"

True to his word, Schultz pulled another sandwich of equal heft out of the bag and began eating as well. He tapped the Corporal on his knee, "Save room for dessert Newkirk!"

After they ate, the combination of the warm milk, good food and coming down off the adrenaline rush set Newkirk to yawning. "Here Newkirk, lean back again. Sleep." Schultz fixed the pillow behind the Corporal's head and tucked the blankets around him.

Newkirk shook his head. "Nah, I don't think I can sleep right now Schultzie. I'm fine, thanks." The Englishman's eyes rolled slowly closed even as he spoke. Schultz chuckled as Newkirk's head gently lolled to the side, coming to rest on his shoulder.

"I can see how you are not sleeping Englander." Schultz leaned back and closed his own eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3 - A Night in the Cooler**

Several hours later, Schultz was startled awake when he felt Newkirk shaking and shivering in his sleep. The Englishman began mumbling, "No. Don't. Don't 'it me…please….please…no.." He gradually increased in volume until he was nearly shouting.

The German guard turned to take Newkirk by his shoulders. He shook him gently. "Newkirk! Wake up! Wake up!"

"No! Please don't…." the Englishman's eyes popped open and he looked about wildly. "Where is 'e? Don't let 'im get me…" He stopped when he saw Schultz' concerned face. He blinked several times and shook his head. "Schultzie?"

"Ja Newkirk. You were dreaming." Schultz didn't have to say of what. They both knew. The guard reached into his pocket for a handkerchief. "Here, wipe your face." Despite the cold, the Englander was soaked with perspiration. "I hope you do not get sick."

"Who cares anyway?" spat Newkirk. He sat up and shuddered, clutching the blankets tightly around himself.

Schultz sighed heavily. He let the Englander's comment pass unanswered. "Tell me about your Vater, Newkirk."

"I already told ya. 'e was a bleedin' coward. Oh did I mention that 'e was also a drunk? I think that about covers it Schultz." His voice adopted an exaggerated, overly civilized tone. "And 'ow's _yer_ family, if I may inquire?"

Schultz did not care for sarcasm, so he let that comment also pass by unanswered. He spoke to the Englishman like he usually did to his own kinder when they needed discipline, "Must I cuff you about the head again Englander? You act like a disrespectful child."

_What am I supposed to act like Schultz?_ Newkirk glared at the German guard but kept his mouth shut.

"I asked you to tell me about your Vater."

Newkirk shook his head in frustration. "I already told ya. Okay, okay!" He put his hands up in defense when Schultz lifted his arm. "Keep yer mitts off me loaf! I'll tell ya what little I know. I was too busy keepin' outta 'is way to inquire much on 'is life story. Me mum told me 'e was born in Cheapside in 1896. Born within the sound of Bow Bells, 'e was. Mum and 'e married real young. 'e was only 19 when I was born. 'e left for the war shortly after. I wasn't even a year old when 'e left."

"So you did not see your Vater until…?"

"'e didn't come back until, I dunno…I think I was two or so that'd make it sometime in 1917. 'e didn't go back after that. Mum said 'e was wounded or somethin'. Me sister Mavis was born about a year later, close to the time of the armistice. The first beatin' I remember musta been around when I was – God Schultzie, I don't remember. I was nawt but a wee lad though."

Newkirk paused and took a deep breath. He had never told a single living soul any of these things. He was shocked to find himself readily confiding in, of all people, one of the enemy. Of course, Schultz wasn't exactly his enemy. He certainly wasn't acting like one right now. He was acting more like a friend. Or even more like a… _Oh no, no!_ He certainly didn't want to go there. He shook himself out of his reverie and turned back to Schultz, who sat patiently waiting.

"That's all Schultzie. I swear."

"You are sure?" The Englishman nodded, but Schultz wasn't ready to let it go. "Who wrote you about your Vater's passing?"

"Me sister, Mavis. Oh wait," he pulled Mavis' letter out of his jacket's inside pocket and unfolded it. "There's one more thing I didn't know about me da til now, 'ere, listen. Mavis wrote, _'There was a right shocker when they took Da away. Do ya know what 'e was clutchin' in 'is hand Peter? A Victoria Cross! I never knew. Did you?'_" He turned to Schultz. "Blimey Schultzie, the VC is the 'ighest award the Crown gives for gallantry!" He shook his head in amazement. "What do you think about that?"

Schultz thought for a long moment before he answered. "I think it proves your Vater was not a coward."

Newkirk glared angrily at the German guard. "Come again Schultzie?"

Schultz reached over with his left hand and grasped Newkirk's shoulder. He raised his right index finger and shook it in the Corporal's face. "Listen to me young Englander and listen well. I will tell you about a good friend of mine. We were comrades in the Great War. We fought against your fathers and uncles. Both sides lost many good young men, just as both sides are losing many good young men right now."

Schultz released his grip and sat back. "Ja, he was a man not unlike your Vater, Newkirk. He had a wife and kinder at home, a young son and two daughters. He loved them. I know this because he always spoke of them with great affection. He always showed us their photographs."

"'ooray for Christmas mate," muttered the Englishman.

Schultz raised his arm menacingly; Newkirk blinked, swallowed hard and shut up.

"As I was saying, he loved his family and he loved his country. He gave his life for his country, much as I think your Vater did."

Newkirk snorted and shook his head. Schultz ignored him and continued.

"We were together at the Somme. Our division held the trenches defending Fricourt."

That tickled something at the back of Newkirk's mind. "Seems me Mum said something about Da fightin' at the Somme," he remarked.

Schultz nodded distractedly. "It is very strange, is it not, to think that your Vater could very well have been in the trenches opposite mein Freund and myself."

"Yeah, wouldn't that be somethin'…" Newkirk's voice trailed off as he pondered the sheer audacity of coincidence; it could quite possibly be true. He suddenly looked over at Schultz with an entirely new perception. The German guard sitting next to him – could he be a living link with his father? It wasn't beyond reality, even if they only shared the same huge battlefield in one brief instant of history. Then again, whatever it was his father went through was caused by the Germans, wasn't it? Or was it? Was there clear-cut fault? The young men of each side went to war to defend their country at the behest of their elders, their government, their trusted counselors and teachers. Newkirk shook his head. _Cor!_ Thoughts such as these never failed to give him a monstrous headache. He had no doubts about himself; he clearly realized what he fought for. He felt confident that he was fighting to defeat one of the most evil governments ever devised by man. And that was enough for him. He found his anger and cynicism draining away as he warmed to Schultz' story.

"Are you all right Newkirk?" Schultz stared at him, a concerned expression on his face.

"Yeah…yeah. I'm all right. Just thinkin' a little too much. Go on with yer tale." He pulled the blankets tighter around himself and nestled his head deeper into the pillow.

Schultz settled back against the wall and spoke softly, his eyes turned inward. "Mein Gott, the drumfire! Mein Gott! I can still hear it echo in my head! I tell you Newkirk, even the trench rats went mad and fled."

"Drumfire Schultzie?" Newkirk cocked his head in confusion.

"Ja, the bombardment. You Englanders unleashed Hölle auf Erden one week before the attack. The guns fired constantly for seven days. Mein freund could not take it. I truly believe that is when he began to lose his mind. He tried to run away but there was no place to go. We had to stay in our dugouts the entire time. We huddled on the floor, clung to the walls, tried to lie in our bunks. We could not see each other because of the gas and dust created by the concussions. We could barely breathe. We knelt and prayed to God that the end would come swiftly. Some men cried like babies, others screamed and wailed. Still others sat staring blankly the entire time. Every so often a direct hit would cause the ceiling or wall to cave in and we would have to dig out the poor fellows who were buried in the debris. The entrance to the dugout was blocked by bodies and parts of bodies. Oh it was horrible!"

Newkirk sat transfixed by the horror Schultz' words painted.

"We could not believe it when the bombardment finally lifted. But there was no time for rest. The officers were yelling and blowing their whistles, calling us out to man the machine guns. The British were attacking."

"Blimey!" breathed Newkirk, mesmerized despite himself.

"The Tommies in the trenches opposite were some of the bravest men we ever saw. They showed us what they were made of during those awful Grosskampftag. They advanced across no man's land in unending ranks. There were so many of them! The artillery in our sector had been destroyed by the bombardment so it was up to us to defend our positions with the machine guns."

He stopped and took a breath, eyes shining with emotion. Newkirk put a hand on Schultz' arm. "You okay Schultzie?"

Schultz nodded wearily. "Ja. Ja. I have not spoken of this to anyone before and it is difficult."

Newkirk sat back, wondering why Schultz was revealing these shattering memories to him of all people.

"We sat, waiting until they were within range of our machine guns. You will not believe this Newkirk, but some of them were kicking a football along amongst themselves as they advanced! Oh you Englanders are a curious lot! As they approached, we mowed them down without mercy. Mein Freund kept firing until the gun barrel glowed red hot. He did not stop. Our guns were cutting machines! The Tommies did not have a chance. They all fell in their ranks, like we were knocking over ninepins. And still they came! As soon as one wave fell, another took its place. So many men, so many good men, were shot down like dogs and their bodies left to lie on the field like rubbish!"

Newkirk shivered at the guard's words. Too many of his mates back home had lost fathers in the Great War.

Schultz didn't notice the Englishman's discomfort as he continued, "I do not know how but they still managed to overrun our trench. We fought hand to hand before retreating to our secondary trench. I lost track of mein Freund in the confusion. By the evening, we counter-attacked and drove the Tommies back across no man's land. All of that death and destruction, for absolutely nothing. I found mein Freund back in our original trench after nightfall. Things had quieted down somewhat, a few shells dropped but nothing like before. Mein Freund was covered in mud and blood. He sat there in the entrance to the dugout, eyes blank, shaking violently. He did not recognize me. I could not calm him, I could not get him to talk or look at me. I finally just lifted him like a child and carried him to the rear, to the medics." The German guard turned and looked the Englishman in the eyes. "He never came back. He was sent home with Kriegsneurosen. What you Englanders call shell shock."

"Did 'e ever get over it? What 'appened to 'im?" Newkirk asked, intrigued despite himself.

"Nein. I went to visit him when I was given leave. His frau told me he abandoned them and she did not know where he was. After the war, I found out that he died alone in the gutter."

Newkirk could see the tears in Schultz' eyes. "I'm sorry Schultzie," was all he could think to say.

"The man I knew would have never abandoned his frau and kinder. The war changed him Newkirk. That is my point."

"What does that 'ave to do with me?"

"Newkirk you are a soldier. Surely you have seen things you wished you had not."

Newkirk sat back, his eyes going vacant as he recalled his own personal hell at Dunkirk. He slowly nodded. "Yeah…yeah Schultz, I have."

"What I am saying is, that whatever your Vater endured changed him, as it changed my friend. War changes men against their will." Schultz put a hand on the English Corporal's shoulder. "Newkirk, I am sorry I have not asked before now. What was your Vater's name?"

Newkirk glanced sharply at the German guard; no one had asked him that in years. He had tried to put it out of his mind and had very nearly succeeded. Well, no not quite, because it was still there.

"H-H-Harry." He took a deep breath and swallowed hard. _Get this right you silly sod! The man deserves that at the very least! _"Harry…Thomas…Newkirk." There. He said it. He frantically tried to blink away the sudden tears brought on by those three words. "Oh bugger! Why the hell am I cryin'? He hated me! I hated him!" He swiped at his eyes viciously and then dropped his head into his hands.

Schultz grasped the Englishman by his shoulders and tried to turn him around to face him. Newkirk resisted; he neither moved or looked up. The German guard leaned in and spoke softly. "Listen to me Newkirk. You were too young to really know your Vater before he went to war. Your Vater did not hate you. He wanted to love you but he hated himself because of the war. He could not overcome that. And you did not hate him. You wanted him to love you. Whatever he became, he was still your Vater. He caused your birth and gave you your life. Remember that."

As the words slowly penetrated his mind, Newkirk finally raised his eyes up to Schultz'. Unable to speak, he simply nodded before dissolving into heaving sobs. He leaned down, slowly collapsing onto Schultz' knees. The German guard put a comforting hand on Newkirk's back, gently rubbing it as the young Englishman finally allowed himself to grieve.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 - Peace**

Just before dawn the next morning, Hogan slowly pushed at the large cinderblock that served as the tunnel entrance into the cooler, trying not to make much noise. He finally got it open and slid through the opening into the cell. He was surprised to find Newkirk tightly curled up on the cot, wrapped in blankets, with his head pillowed on Schultz' knees. From the sound of the soft snores, he appeared to be sleeping quite deeply. Schultz sat with his back leaning against the wall, his eyes closed and his left hand on the Corporal's back. Hogan knelt in front of the German guard and gently touched his arm.

"How is he, Schultz?" he whispered.

Schultz opened his eyes, startled to see the American Colonel crouched down in front of him. "Colonel Hogan!" he whined. "How did you get in here?"

"Is it really important right now?" Hogan put a gentle hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "I'm just as surprised to see you in here Schultz."

Schultz recognized the intense concern for his man in the officer's eyes and relented. "Nein. It is not."

"I see you were able to calm him down. Did you find out what had him so upset?"

Schultz nodded tiredly. "It has been a very long night Colonel."

"I can imagine." Newkirk stirred and grunted, prompting Hogan to remove his hand from his shoulder.

Schultz put a finger to his lips and whispered, "We can talk later, ja Colonel? Newkirk needs to rest." He gently massaged the Englishman's back until he settled down and returned to sleep. "Do not worry. I will bring Newkirk back to the barracks after he wakes up."

Hogan nodded and stood. He could see his Corporal was in good hands. As he turned to leave, he said, "Oh Schultz? You might want to close your eyes."

Schultz smiled. "Ja Colonel. I told Corporal Langenscheidt to count Newkirk as present, since he is in the cooler. Tell him to come see me if he has any questions." He closed his eyes.

"Thanks Schultz! I'll see you later."

Schultz waited a few minutes before opening his eyes. Hogan was gone. He chuckled to himself. _As usual, I see nothing! Nothing!_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Peter had seriously thought and meditated on the things Schultz had told him that night in the cooler so long ago. Everything the German guard said eventually made sense to him. Maybe, just maybe, there _was_ a time in his father's life when he had truly loved his only son. Even if just for the briefest of times before the war destroyed the man he was. He liked to think that perhaps his Da had burst into tears of pure happiness when he had held his only son for the first time. He knew it wasn't much to hang on to, but he cleaved to that thought for the rest of his time in Stalag 13 and found that he was finally able to lay his father to rest.

Peter followed the gun carriage with his eyes and continued to hold his salute as it rolled past. Immediately following was the horse drawn Irish State Coach carrying the new Queen, the Queen Mother, Princess Margaret and the Princess Royal. The rest of the somber procession followed after; the Royal Dukes, various dignitaries, foreign royalty and military units all passed by on foot. The crowd was utterly silent, as if every person there collectively held their breath.

Mavis whispered to her nephew, "I'm sorry Robbie boy, I'm going to have to put you down for a mo'. Let me arms have a bit of rest, then I'll pick you back up okay?"

"'kay Auntie Mave." He clutched at the hem of her skirt as he stood beside her. He stuck his thumb in his mouth and peered up at his father.

Peter had dropped his salute after the passage of the State Coach, but still stood at rigid attention throughout the remainder of the procession, his head held high. He didn't bother to wipe away the tears that streamed down his face.

Robbie stared at his father. He took his thumb out of his mouth, looked up at Mavis and tugged on her skirt. She glanced down at her nephew with her eyebrows raised. "Auntie, why is da cryin'?"

Mavis looked over at her brother, standing at attention, standing so straight, standing so tall, standing so very, very...

Peter had shared the insights he had gained on their father with her and helped her to make her own peace with their difficult childhood. She knew exactly what this moment meant to her older brother, so she crouched down to look his firstborn son in the eyes and make sure he got the sense of her words. "Because he's proud, Robbie. Because he's proud."


End file.
